


it's just gravitational

by qhaau



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: (for the most part), BBC Special, Canon Compliant, Friendship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qhaau/pseuds/qhaau
Summary: When they film the BBC special in Manchester, Nick has a few surprises arranged for Harry. But Harry has a surprise of his own - why don't they just get married?





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Keris - I was nervous to gift something to a real life, kickass, professional author, but your prompt was so fun that writing this was a pleasure. I hope you enjoy. This story is yours! 
> 
> Love to Helen for years and years of humoring me, and more specifically, for blowing off Troilus and Cressida to beta the crap out of this story. Thanks to the Slack ladies for making that little community one of my favorite places on the internet (and to Pinto and Fiona in particular, for the enthusiasm that pushed me over the finish line). 
> 
> Title is from Lianne La Havas's "Unstoppable."

 

 **August 29, 2017 //** **10:25 pm**  

When Harry first brought it up, they were sitting on a couch in a hotel suite in Manchester, a long weekend’s mess of takeaway boxes and clothes spread around the room. Neither of them had talked in a while, and they were in one of those twisted positions that can only come about after three-quarters of an hour spent scrolling through twitter and slowly slouching into each other’s space. Nick felt Harry’s foot nudge his side before he broke the silence.  

“Hey, I’ve decided what we should do after filming tomorrow.”

Nick looked up expectantly.

“We should get married.”

Nick paused for a second, then laughed. It was an old joke of theirs, but neither of them had done this bit in months – maybe over a year, now.

“I’m not sure if my dress will be ready for a few more weeks,” Nick deadpanned.

Harry just looked at him and blinked, slowly, like he does, so Nick kept going.

“And our first dance routine hasn’t been rehearsed enough. If you can’t catch me in a flying leap for all of our admiring friends and family to witness, you _know_ that’s not a wedding day I’m interested in.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and quirked his lips in amusement, and Nick gained momentum. He’d always been a sucker for making that boy laugh.

“If you really want this to happen, you’d better walk yourself over to the kitchen on these—“ he poked the bottom of Harry’s foot “—to start whipping up a cake. I demand four layers, minimum. Little roses and all.”

Harry squirmed at the poke, let out a half laugh, and grabbed Nick’s wrist to still him. “I’m serious!” he insisted through his grin, squeezing Nick’s wrist for emphasis.

Nick squirmed against Harry’s hold. “Me too! Little roses are nothing to joke about!”

“Nick, listen.” Harry sat back, wrapping his arms around his bent legs. He looked smaller like that, younger even. “We’ll film in town in the morning, right, before my performance?”

“Yeah, and to be honest, I’m quite angry that you’re stealing my thunder. I’ve organized surprise after surprise for this special, and now you’re upstaging them all with our last-minute wedding. Why the rush? Are you pregnant?”

Harry threw his head back, making a sound that landed somewhere between bemused and frustrated. He was hard to read like that, sometimes, even when they were just messing around. A lot was happening under the surface – a lot that Nick didn’t feel like it would be good for him to guess at.

“Look, let me finish, alright? So, we do the stuff in town first, then we’ll do the show, and when it’s finished, we just get married.”

And damn if Harry didn’t commit to the joke. They hadn’t teased each other about the wedding stuff for ages, and he was so straight-faced now that Nick didn’t even know what to do with it. If he didn’t even let himself think too hard about _kissing_ Harry anymore – well, unimportant. Time to shut the joke, and that line of thinking, down.

“Young Harold, you may know a lot of things about acting in blockbuster films and selling out Madison Square Garden and having sex with anyone you please, but I do happen to know something you don’t. You can’t just _get married_. You’ve got to, like, file an application and stuff. It takes ages.”

“28 days. You give notice at a registry office, and you can be legally married 28 days later.”

Nick faltered. Okay, so Harry happened to know the exact number of days it took to get married. He knew lots of weird things. That’s what spending your formative years touring the world would give you – a sadly misshapen brain full of useless tidbits about civil proceedings, and a deteriorating sense of humor.

“Plus, I don’t do that anymore.”

What the fuck was he talking about?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Having sex with whoever I want. I don’t do that anymore. On account of wanting to marry you. Tomorrow.”

Nick stood up and started moving their mess of takeaway containers into the kitchenette. His heart was beating far too quickly, too intently, too loudly. It was a ridiculous joke. It was… funny, he guessed. It would not be funny for Harry to see him get so flustered over it.

The thing was, when they used to laugh about this, the punch line was that the idea of their wedding was absurd. Now, the punch line was apparently that Harry could make Nick’s circulatory system work overtime with one tongue-in-cheek proposal.

Harry shouted in Nick’s direction, “Want to know the answer to the 28 days thing? Want to hear my plan?”

Nick rolled his eyes in the general direction of Harry’s muffled refusal to let the joke die. He teased celebrities for a living. There was no reason – no _good_ reason, no reason he wanted to articulate to himself – why he shouldn’t be having fun with this.

“So the 28 days is only for the official paperwork, right? Which, yes. That’s stuff I’ll want eventually.”

Nick settled back onto the couch, holding significantly more alcohol than when he left the room.

“But when you think about it, a wedding is a celebration. You know? It’s when you make some promises and have a big party with the people you care about. That’s the bit I want to do tomorrow.”

Nick didn’t even try to contribute at this point. Best let Harry get all this out of his system so they could finally, _finally_ change the subject. He looked into his white wine, swirling it slowly and focusing on how it moved – focusing on anything, really, other than the way Harry gestured fervently with his hands when he spoke.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I can go more into more detail, right, but to be honest – don’t worry about it. I can take care of it. I know you overthink things, so just… don’t.” Harry paused, and then, “I want to let you decide based on your gut.”  

Right, time for Nick to call this – his gut was churning, but funny enough, it wasn’t making any decisions.

“Okay,” he said in an exhale. “Let’s let this go, now.”

“Nick, I wasn’t joking, I – “

Nick cut him off. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, Harry, but we aren’t even really dating right now. Have we _ever_ really been dating? People _date_ before they _get married tomorrow._ People who get married tomorrow say stuff that we don’t –“

“I guess maybe I should have led with this, but—“ and Harry kissed him.

The kiss was as familiar as it was unexpected. Nick felt something – it could be sadness, maybe resignation, definitely desire. It was a bad idea, kissing Harry. It was a worse idea, joking about marriage and _then_ kissing Harry.

But fuck it, he had never been able to resist him, so he kissed back. He always felt a bit desperate, when they kissed – almost embarrassed at how insistently he moved his lips, how tightly he fisted his hair, how quickly he moaned into his mouth.

Harry broke away. A few seconds later, and Nick would have really lost himself, stopped wondering whether this was part of the joke, stopped thinking much of anything, really. He licked his lips, and Nick’s eyes followed. He looked so bright, so beautiful and so, so earnest _._

“So, the thing I should have said first, I guess, is that I still love you.”

Harry paused, and Nick’s racing thoughts skidded to a halt. ‘ _Still?’_

“And I’m pretty sure, like 99% sure,” he continued, “that you still love me too. We always used to say we would get married when we were older and more settled, so. I mean. That’s now. Tomorrow. Think about it. I’m gonna take a shower.”

Nick shook his head, trying to clear it. Harry was already walking towards the bathroom.

“Wait!” he shouted after him. “You’re serious?”

Harry laughed, and right before the bathroom door slammed shut, he called behind him, “Nicholas, that’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.”

 

* * *

 ** _August 26, 2012_  //**  ** _3:30 pm_ **

_Nick moved to change the song – he was tired of Starships by this point in the summer – but Harry smacked his hand away from the car radio with a half-eaten banana._

_Nick mimed an injury, but he couldn’t help giggling. “Hey” he complained, dragging out the word dramatically, “I bought you that banana. The least you could do is control yourself!”_

_Harry popped the rest in his mouth, shrugged, and tried to sing around it. The ensuing sounds were loud, obnoxious, and definitely closer to a howl than a tune._

_Nick almost forgot to use his turn signal, and his hands were shaking on the wheel with laughter. “Maybe not the best musical performance of your career, popstar.”_

_He glanced over at Harry, sitting in the passenger’s seat with rosy cheeks and a very full mouth. Harry was struggling to chew the banana, and he had resorted to charades to communicate the lyrics of the song while he ate. Nick’s eyes moved between the road and Harry’s hands, too big for his body, gesturing wildly in signals that no person in their right mind would be able to decipher. They had spent almost a full week together, non-stop, and you’d think they’d be tired of each other, but somehow, Harry still had enough to say that it filled even the moments when he couldn’t physically speak._

_Harry finally swallowed the banana, gulping theatrically._

_“I still can’t believe they papped you buying that for me. Must’ve been a slow day, huh?”_

_The truth was, they could both believe it. Photographers had started showing up with increasingly regularity whenever they went out together. They’d been there yesterday at brunch, and last night outside the club, and again today at lunch. They had even hung around while Harry declared that the thing that would end his hangover once and for all was a banana, and while Nick dug out the necessary change._

_“I know,” Nick said, “that’s really going to titillate our fans, innit? Popstars: they need potassium just like us!”_

_Nick knew he’d feel mildly embarrassed when he saw the photos. He was used to being photographed, it wasn’t that. It’s just the way he looked in photos with Harry, specifically.  Harry was only 18, and Nick was always leaning in too close, smiling too wide. Nick was used to being the most magnetic personality in the room – he got paid for it – but when they were together, he stopped being the center of the universe. He orbited around Harry, and he was afraid that it was painfully obvious._

_Harry went on. “The best part is that they saw that I had to nick some change off you. All those album sales, and I can’t even afford my own fruit.”_

_Nick snorted. He would buy Harry a fully-staffed banana farm if he asked nicely, and Harry probably knew it, too._

_Harry continued. “They way they’ve been spinning the bromance thing lately, my mum is probably going to ask if there was an engagement ring hidden inside the peel.”_

_Nick’s knee-jerk reaction should be to apologize that they couldn’t spend time together without their friendship – and it was just a friendship – being picked apart and sexualized. That kind of press was a lot to handle, and he’d had a few more years than Harry to practice with this sort of attention. The thing was, sometimes he did find himself wanting Harry in ways that the tabloids assumed he already had him. As usual, he joked instead._

_“Maybe we should give them what they want, which, based on today, I’m assuming is a fruit-themed wedding. You’ll be radiant in a veil made of, uh, coconut shavings.”_

_Harry snorted with laughter, then tried, too late, to turn it into a dramatic gasp._

_“You’re right! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. I mean, listen…”_

_Harry turned in the car seat until he was facing Nick, his seatbelt twisted tight across his chest. Nick felt the full burn of his undivided attention._

_“They’ve been following our –“ Harry gestured between Nick and himself  “—budding romance from the start. How many fans have followed us through all the intimate landmarks of our relationship like, uh –“_

_“Running around the park in that bodysuit,” Nick chimed in._

_Harry nodded, and waved the banana peel for emphasis as he continued, “Exactly. They’ve been here through our entire fairy tale whirlwind. The only logical conclusion is to plan a wedding that captures the drama and passion of our public relationship.”_

_Harry had leaned in, propelled by the momentum of the joke, and when he finished his sentence, he touched Nick’s cheek in an overwrought parody of a romantic caress. Nick felt Harry’s breath, stuttering with suppressed giggles, on his cheek. He should slap Harry away before he crashed the car, but despite himself, he leaned into the touch._

_“Okay, first of all, I am_ driving, _so you better get your clammy banana fingers off my face before I end up steering this car off the road_. _And second, you are completely correct. Our fans are used to glamour when it comes to our relationship. The bigger, the better, right?”_

_Harry patted his cheek a few times before retreating back to the passenger’s seat. He scratched his chin as if thinking, but Nick saw his dimples, prominent with the smugness of a joke that had landed well._

_“The way I see it, we still have some time to decide the details of our big day, right?” Harry said, “I’m young. You’re not too old yet. We should string the public along for a few years, you know? I’m traveling a lot at the end of this year, not sure my schedule will have time for a wedding at the moment.”_

_Nick glanced at Harry again. Tour was close behind romantic rumors on the list of Harry-related topics he tried to avoid confronting._

_“Ah. I think you’re on to something, Harold. You can’t stay young and famous forever. We’ll wait until we’re almost irrelevant – I’ll be DJing at bar mitzvahs and you’ll be trying to convince the boys to do a reunion tour on a cruise ship. Just when the public forgets all about our young love… we’ll surprise them with a big, obnoxious wedding and a highly produced special on BBC3.”_

_Harry was nodding solemnly beside him. “Exactly. So it’s decided, then? We’re getting married? Shake on it.”_

_Nick glanced over his right shoulder to check his blind spot at the same time as he offered Harry his left hand, without looking. Harry, the absolute git, gave him the banana peel instead. Nick threw the peel at Harry’s head, wiped the goop on his jeans, and resigned himself to the fact that he would probably die at the hands of a certain global superstar._

* * *

  **August 30, 2017 //** **6:20 am**

The morning of the special, Nick woke up first and slowly extricated his legs from beneath Harry’s sprawling ones. They each had their own rooms, technically, but all weekend Harry had ended up in his. That boy knew how to make the most of the space when he slept, and he was currently face down, spread-eagled across the bed.

Nick tried to stay quiet as he grabbed his jogging clothes – shorts from his suitcase, yesterday’s almost-clean T-shirt from the pile across the arm of the chair. He had made it nearly to the door, tip-toeing in the dark, when he stumbled over Harry’s jeans on the floor, lost his footing, and slapped his palm onto the wall to balance himself. He winced in the aftermath of the loud noise, looking back at Harry to see if he had stirred.

Harry made a soft, grumpy sound, rolled over onto his back, and continued to sleep. One of his arms rested gently on his stomach, where it rose and fell with each steady breath. The other arm was thrown across the tousled sheets, long and tanned in the grey morning light.

For a moment, Nick could almost see the 19-year-old – the one who kept him up late with too-strong drinks and too-deep conversation and too-close hands. The one who’d reached across this same bed and kissed Nick before he’d even opened his eyes for the morning. That first kiss had been on a morning just like this one – soft and still.

Harry’s head shifted, the light fell differently, and the moment shattered. Nick’s eyes trailed down his body, noting the changes. This boy was older, stronger, with new tattoos marking his skin. Teenage Harry had joked about getting married while gesturing with a banana peel. Twelve hours ago, this boy had asked Nick – seriously? he’s pretty sure now that it was serious – to start a life with him.

Jesus. Nick needed to get out of the hotel. He couldn’t think logically right now, not like this, not while he could see Harry, _feel_ Harry. He ran faster than usual, blaring his music so high that he couldn’t think, even if he tried.  

Thirty minutes later, Nick returned to see Harry standing barefoot, making tea in his pants.

“You’re freaking out, right?” Harry asked, not even looking up. “I didn’t walk you through my thinking well enough last night, and then I woke up alone, and you’re freaking out. We should talk about it.” He was making it seem like a big production, making tea, the way he fiddled with the tea bags and rearranged the mugs on the counter.

Nick was still breathing heavily from his run. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and gulped down some water. He’d had the night to deal with the fact that Harry was serious, and he kept coming back to the same thing – this was madness.

The combination of adrenaline and frustration gave him enough of a push to reply honestly. “It’s a lot, Harry. Have you thought about this? Like, can you just explain to me how we went from five years of casual friendship or hookup or whatever you could call what we’ve been doing to – this? To a marriage proposal out of nowhere? To a wedding _today_? I don’t feel like we’re on the same page here. I don’t feel like we’re even on the same planet.”

Harry took a deep breath. His hands finally stilled, and he began.

“Okay. So when we used to joke about getting married, the idea was that when we were older and settled, we would just do it, right? And I know it wasn’t serious, but I just thought, well, why couldn’t it be? We’ve always had this… this thing. And it’s different, it’s good, Nick. It always has been. And now we’re both older now, and our careers are going well, and what are we doing with each other? What could we do that could be better than a wedding – a _marriage?”_

“Have you actually thought this through, though?” He didn’t understand why Harry couldn’t see that this was impossible.

“Like – your career, let’s start with that. You’re on tour all the time, Harry. How are we going to make that work? And the press. Oh my god. The press. Remember how bad it used to get when we were just friends? Can you imagine what they’ll publish if we announce that we’re together – that we’re married? They’ll tear us apart. They won’t be nice.”

“Listen, Nick.”

Nick had been working himself up, talking faster and faster. Harry cut in, infuriatingly slowly as always. Nick wanted to hear what was happening in his head – he could practically see the gears turning. It was like for every word that Harry gave Nick, he kept five more for himself. Nick wanted all six.

“We don’t have to deal with every single detail now,” Harry said. “What I’m asking you is to have the wedding, right – to tell our family and friends that we’re together, for real, for the long haul, and to celebrate that. We’ll promise to each other that we’ll find the answers, but we won’t have to figure it all out right now. I just want to commit to making it happen, somehow. I want you and me and _everyone_ to know that we’re in this for real.”

Nick rubbed his temple. He didn’t even know what to say. A part of him, a big part of him, wanted to say yes. He had always been willing to bend himself over backwards just to make Harry smile. The idea of agreeing to something that would – supposedly – make Harry feel good for the rest of his life? It was intoxicating.

The kettle clicked, and Harry turned to pour the water.  

“You don’t have to decide now, ok? Let’s have a brew, eat something. Let’s film the special! It’ll be fun. After it’s done – just let me know if you want to do this, and I’ll put it together. My cards are on the table now, you know? Just… think about it. See how you feel today. I’m not trying to pressure you one way or another – if you don’t want to do this, we’ll go back to how we’ve always been.”

Harry passed Nick his cuppa, as he finished, “but if you do, I think this could be really, really great.”


	2. Chapter II

 

 **August 30, 2017 //**   **11:50 am**

As they finished their morning rehearsal, Nick was thrumming with anxiety. He had been excited for today – he had a few things planned that he thought Harry would genuinely enjoy, and he was excited for them to spend so much time together. He missed their rambling days when breakfast would roll seamlessly into lunch, then dinner, then work, then bed, all with Harry. Now his hands were clammy, and his head was spinning. He was going to be visibly off in the segment, and this was not how he wanted this to go at all.

Fake it ‘till you make it, right? As they approached the nursing home, Nick put on his broadcaster face – he could laugh, joke, tease Harry like he always did. He could deal with this _marriage_ situation when he wasn’t being filmed for national television.  

They greeted the residents, Nick introduced the Bingo game, and as they made their way to their seats, Harry poked him in the side and gave him a thumbs up. Nick grinned and whispered, “is this what you’d expected?”

“It’s perfect, Nick,” Harry replied.

Nick was in his element. Gently taunting Harry in front of a room of old ladies? He could do this all day. Harry committed fully to the bingo lingo – of course he did. Nick tried to convince Rita and Betty to put some money on the game to make things more interesting – of course he did.

Every once in a while, Harry caught Nick’s eye across the room and smiled, or stuck out his tongue, or just held his gaze for a moment. This was something that Nick always forgot when they hadn’t been spending as much time around each other. Harry made you feel like there was a circle, something that encompassed you and him and nobody else. He made you feel like it was only natural to be constantly aware of where he was. He lit up a room – everyone knew that. What they didn’t know, what only people who knew him knew, was that he lit you up too. Harry was bright, and Nick felt brighter by association when they were together.

When the game had finished, Nick started to make his way across the room to Harry. He stopped to talk to a few residents along the way – “excellent shoes, Peter!” “Good game today, Tina!” When Nick made it closer to Harry, he saw that he was deep in conversation with Olive – the winning player who had chosen the chocolates over Harry’s album, bless her.

Nick paused, allowing a woman to push her walking frame slowly in front of him. Harry was speaking to Olive with his whole body. He had leaned way in, hands in his pockets, nodding solemnly along with everything she said. Nick knew how it felt when Harry talked to you like that – it was like the whole world had narrowed to just you and him. It was invigorating. Olive said something, and Harry laughed, glowing with genuine pleasure. Nick knew how powerful you felt when you were the one to make him shine like that.

Nick realized that his path was clear, and he approached. “What are we gossiping about?” he asked, bumping Harry’s hip with his own.

“Well, I was just asking Harry here if he was tied down, you know,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “ _romantically.”_

“And I,” said Harry, “asked her if she had any grandchildren, which is when Olive offered… well, Olive? The photos?”

Olive opened her hand to show Nick a wallet-sized album. “I told Harry he could have his pick of the lot!”

Harry was nodding along, brow theatrically furrowed, as though he was seriously considering which of Olive’s grandkids would make the most suitable backup if Nick said no later that day.

Olive opened the album to a photo of a clean-cut brunette. “Helen, my first granddaughter, she teaches year fives,” she explained, before flipping to a school portrait. “And this is Abigail, but I think she might be a few years too young for you.”

She flipped the page again, to a photo of a man – a _fit_ man – around Harry’s age, laughing at something just out of frame. “Now I don’t know your preferences, but I think you would be exactly Michael’s type. Just say the word, and I’ll send you on your way with his mobile number.”

Harry took the photo and examined it closely, bringing it close to his face and nodding approvingly. “Not too bad, Olive. I might just take you up on that offer – but here’s the thing,” he continued, beckoning her closer. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. There’s someone I quite like at the moment. I’m going to see if things pan out with them before I start shopping around for other options.”

Olive clucked fondly and patted Harry’s arm with her wrinkled hand, pearl bracelet swaying lightly where it hung off her arm. “Tell me – this person that you have your eye on – what’re they like? Do they treat you right?”

Harry grinned. Nick watched him closely, but Harry didn’t take his eyes off Olive. Nick felt a twinge of nerves in his stomach for the first time since they’d arrived at the home – it was one thing hearing Harry outline his wedding plan when they were alone in his apartment. There, it was easy to imagine the idea as something that existed only between them. Here out loud, with a stranger, in a room full of people – well, it was different, bigger, more real.  

Harry spoke in a steady voice. “I think he will treat me well. We’re good friends – the best. And I’ve always wanted more, but I’m busy, and I travel a lot. I’ve been thinking about it recently. I’ve been thinking, you know, about what I should prioritize, and uh – it’s him. I asked him last night if he’d consider getting serious – like, rest-of-our-lives serious – and I’m waiting for an answer.”

Olive was really interested now. She eyed Nick suspiciously – oh god, was he the main suspect in a grandmotherly search for _the boy who will either break charming young Harry’s heart or treat him to happily ever after_?

Harry wasn’t done. “I’m ready to – well, not to settle down, and I don’t think that’s exactly what he wants either – but to commit, to make it work, despite everything else. I think it could be something really great.”

Harry finally looked at Nick, and Nick felt it, like a live wire. Harry’s gaze was charged, and, Nick realized, vulnerable. Harry talked about his proposal – oh god, _proposal_ – in such a level-headed way, that Nick hadn’t realized that he was nervous, too. Harry didn’t take it for granted that Nick would say yes.

Harry looked down at his hands, and Nick’s eyes followed. Olive patted them gently, as she assured him, “Harry, dear, anyone would be lucky to have you. I hope it ends well for you.”

 “Olive,” Nick cut in, “are you married?”

Olive turned towards Nick, but she kept Harry’s hands clasped in her own. “I was,” she responded. “For 67 years, until my Charles passed last year. We got married when we were only 18.” Nick saw her eyes get misty – not with sadness, he didn’t think, not completely.

Nick figured this was as good an opportunity as any to get some outside advice. He needed to get outside his head, and Olive did have 67 years of wisdom. “Any advice for Harry and his, uh, suitor?”

Olive smiled. Was that a knowing smile? Nick thought it probably was.  

“Love, I have a lot of advice I could give out about marriage. Charlie and I were young. Five years into our life together, we were different people than when we first got married. Forty, fifty years after that… we had changed several times over.”

Nick nodded. He and Harry had also changed, grown up, in the years since they’d started – whatever this was.

“We were lucky,” Olive went on. “We changed in ways that were compatible. We were different people, but those people still loved each other.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued, “You know, it wasn’t just luck. We worked for it. We worked hard. I would tell the young man Harry has his eye on that he should think about whether he’s willing to put the work in. If he’s both in love _and_ committed, he should give it a go.” With that, she gave Harry’s hand another soft pat.

Nick saw Harry squeeze Olive’s gently in return. He had spent so many years telling his friends – telling _himself_ – that he didn’t want Harry, or that he knew it would never work even if he did. Now, Harry’s gaze met his own, and Nick allowed himself to feel it all. Everything he had minimized, hid, denied was there, right under the surface, somewhere behind his ribs. He felt it threatening to crack him open.

Olive was right – they would keep changing. Maybe in a year, he would wake up and no longer feel this way. He couldn’t imagine that. More likely than not, it would be Harry who moved on, found someone new, decided that his impulsive marriage to Nick Grimshaw just wasn’t working out in a 67-years-long kind of way.

And Nick would either accept that Harry was done, accept that the time they had together was more than he deserved – how much time would it be, he wondered, two years? Five? Ten? – or he would fight like hell, and likely lose Harry anyway.

He’d always had the idea, ever since they had first kissed, or maybe since he had first _wanted_ to, that this relationship was like something rolling downhill, something that would inevitably crash. He felt himself, tightly coiled and set on an unstoppable route. The route was electrifying, exhilarating.

It wouldn’t last forever.

 

* * *

  ** _July 20, 2013 //_** ** _3:05 am_**

_Nick pressed the buzzer. He waited, pressed again. Fuck it – he turned sideways and leaned his shoulder against the button, closing his eyes and letting the weight of his body hold it down._

_When the door finally opened, it felt like the world fell out from under him. Without his only source of stability, he stumbled and nearly fell over sideways. Nick stabled himself, blinked to steady the spinning around him, and finally realized that Aimee was standing in front of him._

_“AIIIIIMMEE!!!!! You’re here! What are you doing here?”_

_Aimee’s arms were crossed. She raised her eyebrows. Nick vaguely registered that this was her ‘don’t fuck with me on pain of death’ look. He looked around the room, but he couldn’t figure out who she was aiming it at – it was dark, and they were the only two he could see._

_“You asshole. I live here.”_

_Nick wrapped Aimee in a hug, pressing her still-crossed arms into his chest. “Right. Perfect! You live here! Can I come in?”_

_Aimee squirmed her way free from Nick’s embrace. “Okay Nick, you’re a total dick for showing up here, unannounced, drunk, at 3 am.  I’m going to bring you upstairs. I’m going to force feed you water and toast. I’m going to do all of this because I am a good fucking person and because you will owe me a massive favor.”_

_Nick wasn’t listening. He was focusing on standing up._

_Aimee groaned. She flopped one of Nick’s arms over her shoulders, letting him lean on her while she guided him up the stairs. Aimee left Nick sprawled across her couch, happily humming what might be interpreted as Shania Twain._

_When she got back – cup of water and burnt slice of toast in hand – Nick looked considerably smaller. His arms were no longer tossed across the back of the couch. He was sitting, curled into himself, with his feet planted firmly on the ground and his head cradled in his hands._

_“Oh honey,” said Aimee. She sat next to him, gave his back a pat, and asked, “Sick? Need me to grab a bin?”_

_Nick shook his head. “Not sick. Just feeling weird.”_

_“Sad weird?”_

_“I guess. It doesn’t matter.”_

_“Of course it does.”_

_Nick shrugged._

_“Is it Harry?”_

_Nick glared at Aimee. She didn’t beat around the bush._

_“Harry’s on tour.”_

_“I know, Nick. Is it Harry?”_

_“It’s not Harry. It’s me, I’m just tired, and I’ve had some drinks. I should go to sleep.”_  
  
_He didn’t make any moves to get ready for bed, and Aimee was never one to miss an opportunity to goad an intoxicated friend into talking about something sensitive. She pushed. “You miss him though, right?”_

_“We’re not anything, Aimee.”_

_Aimee rolled her eyes. “You spend every day with him.”_

_“I don’t though. He’s not even on the same continent as me.”_

_“And it’s killing you!”_

_Nick was getting frustrated, now. “It’s, Aimee, come on, it’s not. I’m just drunk.”_

_“I know you won’t admit it when you’re sober, but Nick, I get it.”_

_“We’re not anything.”_

_“Do you mean that you’re not what you want to be?”_

_“I – Aimee – I don’t know what I want.”_

_“You want him.”_

_“Aimee.”_

_“Nick! Just admit that you’ve fallen for him.”_

_Nick shot Aimee a hard, look. It would have been a mean look, if his eyes were more focused. He was on the defensive. She switched tactics._

_“Is he good in bed, at least?” And wow, Nick was drunk, because he was usually great at deflecting this kind of question. Instead, he put his hand over his mouth to cover a growing smile. He knew he looked smug, and he just couldn’t exactly remember how to not look that way._

_Because, you see – Harry was really, really good in bed._

_Before he’d left for America, they’d spent, frankly, a ridiculous amount of time having sex. They joked that Harry was insatiable – and he was. Nick could almost feel Harry’s lips on his neck, the way his hand ghosted over his leg, climbing higher, until he arched into it, greedily. He remembered vividly the feeling of the kitchen counter, sharp on his lower back, and Harry’s hands, steady on his hips, holding him there. His sleep schedule was always fucked when Harry was around – he kept him up late, hands pinning his wrists down; he dragged him back to bed after work, making him beg for the slightest touch; one memorable night, he woke him twice, moving softly in the dark, whispering that he’d do all the work._

_The thing was, though, Nick wanted it just as badly as Harry. Nick was the one who sent dirty texts between segments at work, because he knew they would leave Harry hard and desperate for him when he got home. Nick was the one who pulled Harry into a bathroom stall when he finished DJ-ing a gig, whispering into his neck that he couldn’t – wouldn’t – wait a second longer to feel the weight of him in his mouth. Nick was the one who kissed all the words he wouldn’t say into Harry’s hips, spine, thighs, tenderly, urgently._

_Nick re-focused on Aimee when she gave him a light slap on the side of the head._

_“Gross, Grim. You show up here drunk and sit on my couch thinking about your dirty, dirty affair with Harry Styles – I can basically hear you thinking about his penis, and I know I asked, but now I want you to stop.”_

_Nick giggled, which set Aimee off too. They laughed in the belly-aching way that you can only laugh when you’re with your best friend and either very drunk, or very tired, in the middle of the night. And it was funny, really. Nick was an aging DJ with lines around his eyes, and he was in love with the very picture of flighty, youthful beauty._

_Aimee pulled herself together before Nick. She took a bite of toast – his toast, actually – and gave him a sisterly pat on the arm._

_“Jokes aside, Nick, he likes you back. I’m telling you just in case – well, you two are good, and it would be a shame if you didn’t know. Don’t ruin it because you think it’s what you should do, ok? You should be happy. You should be honest with him. Just try.”_

_Aimee left before Nick could respond. He threw the blanket to cover his legs, stretched out on the couch, and typed a text – two words: miss you. In the hazy seconds before he fell asleep, he deleted it, typed again, and sent, just – hiya harry._

* * *

**August 30, 2017 //** **5:40 pm**

When they got back in the car after axe throwing, Nick was feeling better. He had planned a damn good day of surprises, and he knew that Harry was enjoying them. Better yet, only one of their two activities had involved terrifying relationship advice from an elderly matchmaker.

Harry snapped his seatbelt in place, then mimed throwing an axe. “I think I could get pretty good at that.”

Nick laughed – Harry, in his fuzzy jumper and rumpled hair, looked like the least threatening axe-thrower he could imagine.

Harry turned the key in the ignition. “Hey, the commitment thing. Do you think that’s true?”

Nick looked at him, bewildered. “What?”

“Back there. You said you were scared of commitment. Do you think that’s true?” Oh. It had been an off-the-cuff gag – ‘ _I can’t commit! I have commitment issues!.’_ – and he hadn’t thought twice about it.

“It’s just –,” Harry continued, “I don’t really think it is. True.”

“You’re telling _me_ that _I’m_ not afraid of commitment?”

“Right. I don’t think you are,” said Harry.

Nick wanted to get out of this conversation and not think about it again – he felt his whole body tensing with that urge, but he kept his mouth shut. If they were going to discuss this wedding seriously, and Nick was starting to think that they should, they had to be honest with each other. Nick had to be honest with Harry.

Harry was still talking, and Nick snapped back to attention. “—and I know that we never made things serious before, but I never thought it was because you were scared. Like I was only 18, 19, whatever, and you had this new job doing Breakfast, and I was out of the country all the time. I just assumed it was an unspoken thing – it wasn’t the time, but there would be a time.”

Nick’s mouth was dry, but, okay – he could do this. “You thought that, back then? You thought there would be a time? Like, a time when we took this seriously?”

Harry nodded, once. “Yeah, I did.”

Nick thought for a minute, thinking, his hands idly playing with the seatbelt. “I guess, I never knew you felt that way. I thought it was less serious, for you. So I tried to make it less serious, for me too.”

“How’d that go?”

Nick scoffed. “Um. It didn’t.”

“Nick, what I’m saying with the wedding stuff – today’s the time, or it could be, for me. If it is for you too.”

Nick felt his heart, pulsing in his chest and his eardrums and the tips of his fingers. “I’m not afraid of committing to that. When I’m with you, I’m – I have fun with you. The idea of really being with you feels good.”

He took a breath, then rushed ahead before he could stop himself. “It’s just – Harry, if I commit, I’ll _commit_. Like, think about before, like around the time I started at Breakfast. When you were here, we would hook up, yeah, but we would also spend all our time together. I thought about you when you were on tour. I tried to feel less, but I felt _everything_ , and I didn’t show that to you, or always let myself see it, either. If we do this, now, I don’t want to… scare you off.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling fondly, which was not exactly what Nick had been expecting.

“No, listen,” Nick wanted him to understand. “Remember what Olive said, this morning? It’s work. Before, we could step away from it. If you were in America, or whatever, it would be on pause. We would start again. We didn’t deal with the hard stuff. If I – we – do this, we would have to handle all of that.”

“Nick,” Harry responded, and he was still smiling, bemused. “I want that.” Nick felt Harry’s eyes flicking from the road to his face, and back again.

“I don’t know if you do! Harry – remember how bad the papers got, back then? That’s going to happen again, but worse, if we’re properly together this time. You’ll get shit for being with a man, and an older man at that. Your publicist will shit her pants, probably. It won’t be fun for you. You’ll get over it. I’m not sure when, but you will.”

Nick said all of this quickly, his eyes glued to the road. He wanted – needed – to get it out, but he didn’t think he could take the look on Harry’s face as he said it.

“This isn’t about my publicist. This – that’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve thought about this a lot. I’m not jumping into anything without thinking it through. I know that it’ll be hard, sometimes. I’m not pretending that that stuff doesn’t exist, I’m just saying that we’ll figure it out as it comes.”

Nick tried to speak, but Harry stopped him with a hand. It encircled Nick’s wrist, squeezed lightly. “Lemme finish. You can worry about what you want – if you don’t want this, just tell me, and we won’t do it. But Nick, please don’t worry about what _I_ want. I’m telling you what I want – I want you. I want to marry you, and I want to do it today. Trust that, ok?”

Nick nodded, jerkily. He looked up, trying to pull himself together, and saw – “Oh shit, Harry, the cameras. We should probably turn them on. They want a few minutes of footage from each ride, and we need to intro the next part. Sorry. God. Can we finish this later?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”


	3. Chapter III

 

 **August 30, 2017 //**   **7:25 pm**

Nick stood on the roof, looking at Harry, and he felt the cameramen looking at him.

He felt at peace, actually, which was bizarre – it had been a long day, and they still had an entire performance to film, and Harry must be expecting a response to his proposal soon. But somehow, in the joyful normalcy of sharing a chippy, he had just _forgotten_ to feel nervous. The doubt and the anxiety weren’t gone, exactly. They were muted, though, and fading.

Nick leaned back against the railing. He felt the coolness of the metal railing through his jumper. Harry had stepped away on a call, and he was laughing into the phone, his smile easy and open. Nick couldn’t quite hear the laugh, but he knew what it sounded like. He knew it well enough to think that maybe it really was ringing in his ears.

There was so much about Harry that he knew like that – sensory details, learned accidentally, held carefully.

It had been nearly five years, now, since they had first fallen into bed together. Nick had started memorizing bits and pieces long before that, holding them close to his chest, keeping them safe. Nick’s life went on when Harry wasn’t there, and it was good, he had fun, but whenever Harry came back – the pieces all just _clicked_ , and everything in his life fit a bit more comfortably _._

* * *

**_June 4, 2015 //_**   ** _12:35 pm_ **

_Nick got home from work to see Harry still sleeping. He laid down too, for a while, until he woke to the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of Pig licking his toes. When he twitched away, his foot connected solidly with Harry’s shin._

_“Oi,” Harry said, grumpily, not even bothering to open his eyes. Nick tousled Harry’s hair, and nudged his shin again, this time on purpose. When Nick was up, everyone had to be up – that was just the rule._

_Harry turned on his side, resting his head against Nick’s bare chest and wrapping his arms around him. He was warm – Nick could feel the heat emanating from him, where his torso pressed into his own._

_They had plans later – Harry was coming to Nick’s Topman launch – but that wasn’t for hours. Nick shifted to make himself more comfortable, and Harry moved with him, sleepy and pliant. He could feel himself getting drowsy again._

_He counted the days in his head – tomorrow was the 5 th, and on the 5th, Harry was back on tour. Nick couldn’t remember when he’d be in London again – September? They’d had a good few days this time. Pixie was still talking about setting him up with that drummer she knew, and maybe he’d give that a go while Harry was in America. _

_For now, Nick leaned into Harry’s touch, listened to the pattern of his breaths, and fell back asleep._

* * *

**August 30, 2017 //**   **7:30 pm**

On the roof, Harry turned towards Nick. Nick didn’t drop his eyes – he let Harry see him, let him see that he was looking.

The moment hung there, and then Harry tipped his head back, breaking their eye contact. He was laughing into the phone again. The blue of the darkening sky fell on the exposed arc of his neck, and Nick watched as it mixed with the artificial yellow of the lights. He felt transfixed – reverent, almost – watching it dance across his skin like stained glass.

Harry hung up and walked back towards Nick. “That was my mum. She’s coming to the show tonight, you know? She’s almost here now, she’ll meet us and we’ll ride over together.”

When Anne arrived, Harry was on another call, going over some details for the show with someone from his team. Nick didn’t mind. Small talk with Anne was easy – she was lovely, and they had always got on well.

“Busy day, hon? How is it all going?” Anne asked.

“Alright! You’re gonna love watching it, I bet. We played some bingo at a nursing home – just the usual day out for Harry and I.”

“Ah, that’s nice. I bet you two had a good time. Harry always has fun when he’s spending time with you.” She paused and scanned Nick’s face, before asking, “How are things with Harry?” Nick saw the glimmer of intent in her eye. She was asking with purpose, which meant – Nick froze, as he realized –

“You know?”

“Oh love, he tells me everything important. You’re important to him. Of course I know. I’ve known for ages.”

“Things with Harry are…” Nick trailed off.

He could see Harry over her shoulder, where he was talking with his hands, gesturing with the crumpled paper from his chips. Nick felt silly, somehow, for the way he was watching him before, like he was art – something ephemeral and out of reach. Harry was right there, solid and real, a boy with a mother who wanted to know what Nick planned to do with her son’s heart.

“…complicated,” he landed on, like a goddamn cliché.

“Wait,” Nick continued. He heard Anne’s words for the first time, grasping at them, because – did she really mean – “you’ve known for ages? _Harry_ knew for ages? That he was going to ask me to – are we talking about the same thing?”

“Oh, Nick,” she touched his arm, gently, but he barely felt the touch. His earlier calm had shattered, and his thoughts were spinning out, faster than ever. 

How long had Harry been thinking about a wedding? He could be impulsive, but he _did_ always have gears turning under the surface. This wouldn’t be the first time that he played something off as spontaneous, when it had really been brewing for quite a while. But _this_?

“Nick,” Anne said, softly, bringing him back. “You were really that surprised?”

Nick knew that his mouth was hanging open, at least a little bit. “Okay. You were surprised.” said Anne. Her eyes were kind, and Nick thought she knew that he was in need of a little help here.

“Listen,” she continued, “I don’t know the details of you and Harry’s relationship. I’m sure you’re right – I’m sure it’s complicated. I know what he asked you, yes, and I know that you haven’t given him an answer just yet.”

“I also know you’re probably thinking that there’s a million reasons why marrying my son would be crazy or irresponsible.” Anne chuckled, a little, to herself. “You’d be right, honestly. It is a little crazy. But I know him well, and I know how he feels about you. He loves you.”

It hung in the crisp evening air – ‘ _he loves you’ –_ and somehow, hopelessly, impossibly, Nick believed it.

“Harry loves you, Nick, and isn’t that one big reason to do this that sort of… beats all the small reasons not to?”

“You never know what’s going to happen. Sometimes you’re in love, and it doesn’t work out the way you want. You mess up, or someone –“  she paused, searching for the words, “–can’t  be there anymore.”

And oh, of course. Now it was Nick’s turn to lay a hand on her shoulder, to squeeze, to give her a moment to gather herself.

Anne’s voice regained its strength as she finished. “I just want you to know that I support you two – together and separately – no matter what. You’ve always been good to him, and if you decide to do this, well, you’ve got a mum’s approval.”

Nick brought her in for a hug, and whispered “thank you.” And then, for the first time in this 24-hour whirlwind, he realized – _“_ Oh, shit. _Mum._ ”

Anne leaned back, looking at him, her arms still wrapped around his.

“What am I going to tell _my_ mum?”

“I haven’t spoken to her, but Nick – Eileen loves my boy. She’ll be pleased. I really think she’ll be happy if you’re happy. Don’t you think?”

She was right – his parents both loved Harry, always had. They asked about him, actually, almost every time they spoke.   

“Harry knows what he wants, Nick. And I know that you can make him happy.”

  

* * *

  ** _September 23, 2016 //_** ** _5:35 am_**

_Nick had just stepped out of his flat when his phone rang. The hallway was dark, and he was still sleep-bleary. He never quite woke up until he was halfway to work – thank god for his driver, or he’d never be able to host Breakfast._

_He fumbled with the vibrating phone for a minute, nearly dropping it, and finally picked up on the last ring._

_“-Ello?”_

_“Nick?”_

_It was Harry, and he sounded tired. Yeah, that would make sense. He was recording in Jamaica, and the time difference – well, Nick wasn’t sure, exactly, but it had to be the middle of the night there._

_“Harry? What time is it?_

_“Late,” Harry replied, then nothing._

_Usually, Nick would fill the empty space that Harry left, but he was just tired enough to let the silence sit. He leaned back against his door and let the quiet wrap around him._

_“I’ve been writing a lot,” Harry finally said._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah. It’s pretty good, I think.”_

_“Of course it’s good.”_

_Again – a silence. There was something nice about it, actually. He was tired, and Harry was tired, and they were sharing a silence._

_“Remember that first Christmas that I spent at your Mum and Dad’s? I was thinking about that today. Dunno why.”_

_Nick smiled, and he thought he could hear Harry smiling, too. Of course he remembered that Christmas. They’d only known each other a few months, then, but they stayed up late, stuffed full of sausage meat, talking and drinking his dad’s brandy. They sat on a couch covered in the remnants of their Christmas crackers, and Harry put his feet on Nick’s lap during the Doctor Who special. Nick’s dad had called him Henry Stars, and the look of absolute glee on Harry’s face when he heard it – well, Nick hadn’t stopped trying to make him grin like that, since._

_“That was a good time,” said Harry, and yes, Nick could definitely hear the smile. “Felt like family, you know? Been missing that.”_

_“You should call your mum, then.”_

_“Nah. It’s ok. This is – this is good. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, since I’ve been down here.”_

_Nick leaned his head back, letting it rest against the wood of the door. For a minute, he let himself believe that Harry meant that in the way that he wanted him to._

_This pattern they’d established, the way they started when Harry was around and stopped when Harry was gone, and didn’t talk about any of it – it had Nick feeling drained. It’s just that it had been going on for so long, now._

_“You’ll be tanned the next time I see you, and it’s been a while since I’ve been jealous of you. I’m sure that’ll cheer you up.”_

_Harry’s laugh was muffled through the phone line, and Nick felt it acutely – the distance. He missed Harry’s voice in his ear, not distorted by oceans or cell towers. He’d been gone so much lately, between making the film and putting together the album._

_“Why’d you have to go to Jamaica, anyway?” Nick asked. “Don’t they have recording studios in London?” He hoped Harry didn’t hear it in his voice, but he felt like pleading, almost – come back, come home, come meet me in this dark hallway._

_“We came here so we could block out distractions, you know?”_

_Nick slid down the door until he was sitting, his legs bent in front of him. The driver would be waiting, by now, but he didn’t want to hang up yet._

_“I’ve been thinking about what I want,” said Harry._

_“You’re a popstar and a film star, now, how could you want to do more?” Nick teased – gently, he hoped._

_“I just… I’ve been thinking about what matters. All the stuff I’m doing, the stuff I should do. How to prioritize it.”_

_“Your career will work itself out, Harry. I know you’ve taken on a lot, right now. Just – don’t worry.”_

_“I’m figuring it out, Nick. All of it. I’ll tell you when I do.”_

_The line clicked, and Nick checked his phone to be sure that Harry had hung up. He got in the car that was waiting outside, and by the time he arrived at the studio, the memory of the phone call was as hazy as a dream._

* * *

**August 30, 2017 //**   **8:15 pm**

Harry joined Anne and Nick, and everything became a blur of motion – the ride to the studio, hair and makeup, a quick look over the set list – it all happened so fast, until, all of a sudden, the seats were filled, and it was time to begin.

The show moved in stops and starts. Nick read his lines off the teleprompter, he joked with Harry, and then he moved offstage to watch the songs. Nick had always loved seeing Harry perform, but to see him like this – alone at the front of the stage, moving with confidence, singing with emotion – it made Nick’s world slow.

Sometime during Girl Crush, his eyes traced up Harry’s bright suit to his face, awash in yellow light. Abruptly, he _knew._

He felt it – him and Harry, this amorphous, enormous _thing_ between them – and it was rolling downhill, gaining speed, heading towards the only possible conclusion. It wasn’t what he thought it would be. That conclusion – it wasn’t the end, it was the beginning.

He thought of banana peels and Christmas at his parents’ and summer mornings in bed. He heard Olive – ‘ _Give it a go,’_ and he heard Anne – ‘ _He loves you.’_ He heard Harry, too – ‘ _We should get married. I still love you.’_ That was the only voice he needed, in the end. Harry was sure of this, and he was sure of Harry, and –

Oh. Nick realized, with a jolt. Harry had been right. His gut was making a decision for him, after all.  

Nick introduced Sign of the Times. He could hear himself reading off the teleprompter, but inside, he was screaming: _I know what I’m going to say, I know, I finally know_. He looked down at the roomful of people staring up at him, waiting for the song to start. Nick felt ready to burst, and he made a snap decision – this wasn’t a live broadcast, someone could cut it later, and he had to tell Harry _now_.

He turned away from the crowd, covered his mic, and murmured into Harry’s ear, “tell them you need the loo.”

Nick walked offstage, and suddenly Harry was there too, his eyes carefully expressionless.

“Yes,” Nick said. “ _Yes._ Let’s get married _._ ”

Harry’s face lit up – he looked like a goddamn star, like he could burn the place down. Nick beamed, too, Harry’s light reflecting off him like the full moon.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said again, “yes, yes.” Nick was sure _._ They had a time – _this was the time_.

Harry nodded, and for a second, looked like he was about to lean in for a kiss. He stopped himself, glancing down at Nick’s lips, and said, “Yes. Nick, yes. I – I have to do my last song.”

“Yeah. Go. After.” They stood there for one more moment, grinning like fools in the red glow of the stage lights.

Then Harry was moving back onstage, signaling to the band as he reached the mic stand, and the opening chords of Sign of the Times filled the room. Nick wouldn’t remember him singing it, after. Those six minutes – they were minutes to be lived, only, and not remembered. He did remember the way the last line was still reverberating in his ears when he saw Harry coming towards him.

Harry brushed past the curtain, past Nick, looking back to be sure that he was following. They turned left, left, right. When Harry stopped, it was sudden, and Nick nearly ran into him – but as Harry turned, he turned Nick with him. Nick felt his back pushed up to the wall of the empty corridor, and he felt Harry’s hips pressed into his, holding him there.

Nick leaned in, and Harry followed. The kiss was messy. Harry’s hands were everywhere – they traced up his neck, down his arms, curling between Nick’s body and the wall to cup his lower back and pull him closer. Nick pulled Harry in too, urgently, with hands on the silk of his collar. They were already as close as they could be, but Nick wanted _more._

As Harry licked a stripe up his neck, Nick tilted his hips up, and – there, friction. Harry choked out a moan, and Nick felt his own breath stutter.

“I love you,” Harry said, against his jaw, and Nick thought he might combust with hearing it. Instead, he dipped his fingers below Harry’s waistband. A strand of Harry’s hair had fallen into his face, and Nick watched the way it clung to his face, the way the sheen of sweat continued down his neck, the way his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Harry’s hips were moving in small circles against Nick’s, and Nick was achingly hard.

Then, impossibly, infuriatingly, Harry stilled. “Did you hear that?”

Nick tore his eyes away from Harry’s face, and over his shoulder, he saw a man in a black hoodie retreating down the hallway. Nick giggled – he didn’t know what else to do. Harry turned and saw him too.

“I – we – got carried away. We should stop before someone else comes along,” he said, raking his eyes down Nick’s body like he didn’t want to stop at all, actually.

Nick pulled Harry back in, two firm hands on the nape of his neck, until their foreheads were touching. “I love you too,” he said, finally, letting the words settle for a moment before he dropped his hands.

“So, how is this going to work?” Nick asked. “Are we really going to have a wedding _tonight_?”

Harry pulled out his phone and started tapping out a message. “I rented out a restaurant – I told everyone that I wanted to have a big party at the end of the taping, and we could’ve done, even if you’d’ve said no. They’re all there now – everybody important – but only my mum knows the whole story. When we get there, I’ll tell Gemma what’s going to happen, and you can tell your family too.”

Harry looked up from his phone and shook his head, wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe it either. “What’s Pete gonna say, do you think?”

“My dad’ll think we’re mad. We are, aren’t we, a little bit?”

“I guess we are,” said Harry, smirking, and Nick dipped to kiss him on the cheek.

“So then,” Harry continued, “we’ll announce that we’re getting married, give everyone some time to freak out, and, I, uh, I wrote some vows. You could too, maybe, in the car. Dunno, only if you want to.”

Harry looked shy, all of a sudden, and Nick felt so much that his chest ached with it. He might be nervous, but he wasn’t sure – it was all mixing together, the adrenaline and the absurdity and the sheer force of his sureness.

“I make things up on the spot for a living, love. I’ll know what to say when we get there. Then what?”

“Then we just… have a party, you know?”

“Sounds perfect,” Nick said, “Of course, we’ll have to kick everyone out, at some point – our friends love a good party, but I’m going to want to take my husband to bed.”

At ‘husband,’ Harry shone brighter still. This – this was good.

“Right,” Harry said. “Should we go, then?”

In the grand scheme of things, it was one of the easier questions that Nick had been asked recently.

 

***


	4. Epilogue

 

 **November 3, 2017 //**   **7:50 pm**

“C’mon! Nick! Open it!”

Harry was standing close behind him – close enough that Nick could feel him bouncing on his heels, impatience rolling off him in waves.

Nick brought the key towards the door as slowly as possible, waving it through the air in an exaggerated zig-zag pattern. Behind him, Harry bounced faster.

“C’mon! Stop it! Nick!”

Nick laughed as he turned the key in the lock – riling Harry up was one of life’s great satisfactions, and two months of marriage hadn’t changed that. The second the door was cracked, Harry shoved past him, bounding into the flat.

“Oi! Harry, it’s not even live!”

Harry’s answer rang from around the corner – “No spoilers!” – and even as he was rolling his eyes, Nick was grinning. He turned to see Harry standing in front of the telly, fiddling with the remote.

“You’re ridiculous! Not only is it taped, so, y’know, there’s no hurry because we can watch it _whenever we want to_ , but also – you _lived_ it! How can I spoil something that’s already happened to you?”

Harry ignored his impeccable logic, because he’d finally found what he was looking for.

“Aha!”

He pressed play before dropping onto the couch, kicking off his shoes, and propping his feet up on the table. Harry had officially moved in after the wedding, but not much had changed around here, really. He’d been putting his feet up and leaving his clothes scattered around for years, no matter whose name was on the lease.

It was nice, though, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when he left, he’d be back, every time. It was nice to know that when Harry wasn’t sleeping in his bed – _their_ bed – he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, either.

Being married to Harry – it was way more than _nice_. It was the _nicest_. It was good to the utmost degree. It was the most superlative thing in his life.

The intro to their special played, and Sign of the Times reverberated through the room, distorted and electronic-sounding, as Nick settled in next to Harry. He’d joked, but he was excited to see this too. He’d had half a mind to watch it last night when it aired, actually, but Harry had been in Glasgow, and they’d promised to do it together.

Harry pulled Nick in, and Nick went easily, pressing into the warm solidness of his chest, letting his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s a bit weird, right? Watching this day?”

Onscreen, Harry was singing Sweet Creature. Nick pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw before he answered.

“Guess so – I was so nervous, for a lot of it. Weird to think I didn’t know how it would end up.”

Harry gestured to the suited, singing version of himself on the television. “He had no idea what was coming!”

“What? Tying down the most eligible bachelor in the United Kingdom? How could he have guessed?”

Nick expected Harry to say something sarcastic in return, but instead, he just said, “yeah, something like that.”

They fell into silence, for a while, as their onscreen selves chatted. Nick saw that look on his face – the one that used to embarrass him, the one where it was obvious he thought Harry had hung the fucking moon.

“It was a good day,” said Nick.

“One of our best.”

 

* * *

  ** _August 31, 2017 //_** ** _12:55 am_**

_“Gonna get us another drink.” It was loud, and Nick half-shouted against Harry’s ear to be heard._

_Harry nodded, but when Nick turned to go, he tugged his hand, pulling him back in for a kiss. Nick’s head swam with the music and the champagne buzz and the heady feeling of Harry’s lips on his. He made out a ‘whoop’ somewhere behind him and raised his middle finger in its general direction, before cupping Harry’s cheeks with both hands._

_Nick was stopped a few more times on the way to the bar – a kiss on the cheek from Alexa, a smack on the bum from Henry, another big hug from his sister._

_When he had finally put in his drinks order, he felt someone squeeze his shoulder._

_“Hiya, Nick!”_

_“Gemma!”_

_“Quite the night,” she said, turning to stand next to him at the bar._

_Nick hummed his agreement, and they just stood there, for a minute, taking it in. In front of them, a roomful of people moved together to the music. He watched as Harry spun Lou by the hand. He pulled her back into a deep dip, and she kicked her leg up, laughing. Harry was laughing, too – in fact, the room was full to bursting of people he loved, dancing and laughing._

_“I’m so glad, Nick.”_

_“Yeah?” As he asked it, he realized the question was genuine. Gemma was fiercely loyal, he knew, and her blessing was important to him._

_“Seriously, I’ve been telling Harry for… a long time, now, that he should figure things out with you.”_

_“You have?”_

_Gemma smiled up at him. She was pink-faced from the drinks and the dancing, and she looked so like Harry – vibrant and beautiful, with the same deep dimples._

_“I won’t spill the details, but yeah. I like you, Nick, and I like Harry when he’s with you.”_

_Nick looked back at Harry, and their eyes met, for a second. Harry waved, then spun away, a blur of movement._

_“I love him, Gem,” Nick said, and he did._

_She laughed and smacked him playfully on the arm._

_“They can see that from space, idiot. Besides, if I didn’t already know, I would after tonight – you saw me having a little cry while you said your vows.”_

_Anne pulled Gemma away, then, and Nick collected his drinks. As he made his way back to Harry, the music and alcohol pulsing through his blood, he rolled her words over in his head – they can see it from space._

_Then Harry turned and smiled at him, and he felt happiness radiating from every pore in his body, and he thought – this. This is what they see._


End file.
